The album belongs to a extra harmless, pre-edgelord period in pop-cultural trolling, when being actively offensive was seen as a noble act of punching up in opposition to an uptight boomer institution, whose Democratic and Republican constituents had been discovering frequent trigger in blacklisting information. It was the period of peak Howard Stern, of Invoice Hicks’ ascendency to alt-comedy sainthood, and Denis Leary enjoying the Stone Temple Pilots to Hicks’ Nirvana in his MTV-commercial rants. Heck, even a younger Radiohead had been naming albums after Jerky Boys skits. As a pair of suburban stoners far more all for meals than politics, Ween didn’t undertaking the identical type of outwardly hostile power because the aforementioned contrarian cranks. However their deceptively affable demeanor meant they might get away with pushing the envelope even additional.
Whereas Freeman and Melchiondo would shudder at being labeled “comedy rock,” they approached music-making like a sketch troupe: Each tune was its personal self-contained absurdist setting, every presenting a brand new alternative to reinvent themselves with totally different sounds, situations, and a few presumably ill-advised however endearingly executed fake-accented roleplay (see: the mock-Mexican homicide ballad “Buenas Tardes Amigos” or the mutant, Center Jap metallic of “I Can’t Put My Finger On It,” presumably the primary solely and tune ever impressed by the stench of falafel).
And like nice comedian actors, Ween can convey a whole universe in easy ad-libbed particulars: On the opening honky-soul swinger “Take Me Away,” Freeman drops in an Elvisesque “thanks” to a smattering of canned applause, and also you’re instantly thrust right into a sparsely attended supper membership someplace within the Midwest circa 1974, watching some ageing and bloated former pop idol desperately making an attempt to remain hip 15 years previous his prime; you possibly can virtually image the sweaty overgrown sideburns, unbuttoned gown shirt and dangling bowtie. It’s no coincidence that a few of Ween’s most vocal followers are sketch-comedy creators themselves—Mr. Present, Tim and Eric, the South Park guys, and Tenacious D included. (And at a time when the alt-rock world was nonetheless grieving the demise of Kurt Cobain, Ween devoted Chocolate and Cheese to the late SCTV nice John Sweet, who died a month earlier than him.)
However the place their previous albums had been liable to degenerate into giggle suits, Chocolate and Cheese by no means breaks the fourth wall or winks for the digital camera. It successfully traps the listener in deeply uncomfortable conditions the place you’re pressured to ask your self: Ought to I be laughing at this? The centerpiece ballad, “Child Bitch,” perfected the acidic Elliott Smith acoustic serenade earlier than Smith had turn into synonymous with the shape, however its wounded coronary heart is wired to a gangsta rap mind. The tune catalogs the unresolved resentments that bubble up when your ex resurfaces after you’ve entered a brand new relationship. However whereas numerous dorm rooms throughout America have collectively burst into laughter on the sound of Freeman softly singing “fuck you, you stinkin’ ass ho” over dulcet guitar strums, the tune is as unflattering a portrait of male insecurity and self-loathing as something the Afghan Whigs had been placing out on the time.
